Man of Mirrors
by palomino333
Summary: "I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best." -Frieda Kahlo. Prequel to "Of Follies and Regrets," set directly before the Ceremonial Battle. Implied Vaseshipping and Peachshipping.


"Present day…Present time…Hahahaha!" – opening line to _Serial Experiments Lain_

* * *

This was his home.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, Atemu sighed heavily. It never did feel like it to him. For 3000 years, he'd traversed this maze endlessly in search of anything, an answer, a companion, or an escape. It had become a sort of game, drawing in the air maps of the perspective area, places that he had seen, or an indicator, a landmark, perhaps a specific line of text, or image, something that would make some amount of sense in a changing landscape.

The inversion with a lack of gravity had made him sick on more than one occasion before he had gotten used to it. He'd knelt upon the stone step, and breathed heavily, palms down on the cold stone surface, before turning his head to the side to retch. The novelty of it had worn off in its time, and that was after he had stretched it as far as he possibly could have. Still, he'd had really no other choice in the matter, and so he treated each corridor as undiscovered territory. There were times when he had to snap it backward a bit, and remind himself that obstacles had remained. He'd slipped down into a room without a floor, and caught himself only at the last moment, bashing his head off the side wall.

The stories the walls told neither seemed to have a beginning, nor an ending, figures rotating slightly or switching positions, if only out of the corner of his eye. It disconcerted him to see a figure turned in reverse from where it had once been, and unnerved him when those black eyes rolled to stare directly at him. He stayed off the walls for a while afterward.

The shadows themselves had proved to be far from friendly, or perhaps they were, though in a way only they considered themselves to be. At first they had been more in line with what Yugi's physics textbooks had declared darkness to be: merely an absence of energy. Shadows had merely indicated the placement of a doorway, or the rising of a stair. The Spirit had considered them to be a typical set dressing of his dwelling, embarking through them with little fear as to what was hidden within them, as there was nothing. Still, that did not mean he didn't feel a tenseness at the echoing of his own footsteps over the stones, or the grinding of the walls as they slid. The Spirit hugged himself as he wandered through the open halls, the wind whistling through them in a ghostly manner. In some ways, he thought of his own shadow as a twin, or companion, following him about, though at times it gave him a considerable chill down his spine when he felt something else there.

He could never really figure it out, and the implications of it were vague. The Spirit's most obvious theory was that he had been taking his metaphor too far, in that he was beginning to see his shadow as a sentient being apart from himself, as opposed to a double made by a trick of the light. Still, the shadow had proved a point of reference for him. The Spirit lacked a looking glass within this maze, therefore what he could tell of his own body, he could only infer from glancing down at his hands and lower body. He'd been surprised as to how his hair looked, reaching up to run his hands through its strands as he stared down at the floor. What his shadow did also tell him was that his form was distinctly humanoid, but not much else. From feeling his face, he found that he had only one pair of eyes, for example, but could not figure out their color.

XXXXXX

It made the whispers and movements more chilling when they began. They began softly at first, a word passed in such a low frequency that the word was barely heard over the labyrinth's echoes. Still, each word was enough to give the Spirit pause, though he dared not hope that it was from a possible companion. It had been too soft and quick for him to decipher, having more in common with a sniff or quick release of breath than the beginning (or for that matter, ending) of a conversation. For as jarring as each interval was, he found himself waiting for the next incident with cautious anticipation.

However, he found that his curiosity ultimately led to his demise. When the voices did become decipherable to him, he wished that he had not heard them.

"What has he done? I heard it was awful."

"…Dead, all of them…"

"Boiled alive…" Agonized screams and begging for mercy rolled through the halls. The Spirit gasped, standing stalk still in the middle of the hallway, his eyes wide. The eyes of the painted figures rolled to stare at him, the warriors with their raised spears, the half-animal gods braying, roaring, and growling at him.

"Who did this?!"

The Spirit winced, kneeling to the floor and clutching the sides of his head as the accusers chanted, "He did it! He did it!"

Like a cornered animal, he drew in on himself, his arm held up as a shield. In a voice that resembled more a hiss than a human man's, he exclaimed, "I've done nothing wrong! Leave me alone!"

His shadow, however, betrayed him. The Spirit gasped as it detached from his feet, rising slowly upward, but lacking in density, as if one of the flat drawings had stepped off the wall. The Eye of Wdjat opened and gleamed gold upon its forehead. The Spirit shook his head at it, and glanced frantically about, only to be met with the cold, angered stares of the figures on the wall, and the accusatory chants building higher.

The Spirit's teeth gnashed as the shadow extended an arm toward him. The hand's fingers fell together, creating a blade-like object, giving the Spirit just one moment to widen his eyes at it before the blade shot forward. His cry of pain was muffled as the blade sliced through his gritted teeth, jamming into his mouth, and down his throat. He shook his head, reaching up his hands and chopping at the dark energy. His shadow reacted by raising its other arm, and shooting it forward, this time to wrap tightly around his torso, fastening his arms close to it. His gasp was muffled as his feet left the floor, held aloft by one arm while the other continued to jam down his throat.

"He did it! He did it!"

"Kill him! Kill him!"

The Spirit glared fiercely down at his shadow. Who was he to accuse him of such a thing? He glanced about at the angered designs. Who were, for that matter, any of these painted figures? They weren't even sentient. The Spirit's rage and fear built within him, and he threw his head back, letting out a muffled howl, his fists clenching and unclenching, and his legs kicking. The Eye of Wdjat appeared to gleam on his forehead for a moment before bursting into a brilliant light, burning off the shadow's arms. The Spirit gasped as he drew in a breath of cold air, his arms splayed out as he fell to the floor, landing on his feet.

The shadow stumbled back, immolated from the light, the darkness chipping away as it rolled pitifully back and forth, shrieking in pain. The Spirit glared down at it, his mouth slowly twisting into a grin at the wrongdoer's expense. He allowed it to writhe and squeal as the shadows on the walls convulsed about it, almost slipping away from the Spirit in fear. The drawings quickly rolled their eyes away, and slipped closer to one another, to the point where the images appeared to be bunching together.

The Spirit swung that malicious grin toward the images before striding forward, and placing the palms of his hands to them. The mouths of the images dropped open, as if screaming, as they were burned completely off the wall. Turning back toward the pitiful shadow on the floor, the Spirit sighed in annoyance before snapping his fingers. The unruly shadow melted back into the floor, and slid back to attach itself to his feet.

The whispers stopped abruptly. The Spirit glanced about. "Anyone else?" He challenged. The hall was silent in response. Folding his arms, he commented, "I didn't think so."

Suffice it to say, Atemu thought, he'd learned right away that the rule of the game was to either kill or be killed. Whatever he had done, he hadn't had any knowledge, therefore, the accusations that had been flung at him had been lacking in solid evidence, and he had not been given the chance to argue. If anything, then, it at least provided a guide to him with which he could take note of how to structure his shadow games. Still, he'd heard the whispers, even after then, but he'd dismissed them, knowing that they were completely harmless. From time to time, however, he'd dragged the shadows from the walls, forcing them to take shape before him.

Atemu snapped his fingers, and two golden ankhs rose from beneath the floor to appear before him. He'd worn them on his sleeves during his first venture outside of the Puzzle to punish Ushio for harming Yugi. He'd kept to his principles, giving the bully a fair chance before he'd ruined it. Afterwards, however, he'd stripped the ankhs off, finding them too gaudy for the modern age. The ankhs lowered to rest upon each upturned palm. When forced by him to do so, the shadows had taken humanoid shape, and played against him, the game being of his choosing. A shadow, however, wasn't a companion to him, rather it was an imitation of one. It could think, and move a piece across a senet board, for example, but he couldn't engage it in conversation. He supposed, in retrospect, it was similar to Kaiba's A.I. technology, in that a computer could imitate a human, but could not truly be one.

He raised his gaze from the ankhs, and stared up at the ceiling above. Yugi had told him that it had once been nonexistent, leaving only a black void, with an image of the Sennen Puzzle itself being shattered by the Pyramid of Light.

XXXXXX

"This is it," Yugi declared, pointing to the closed door before them. Breaking off, he added in a less sure tone, "At least, I think it is, from what I can remember. You know your own mind better than I do."

Yami no Yugi, as he had been known then, smirked at his friend's usage of irony before turning his attention back to the door, and fastening his hand upon the metal handle. With a flick of the wrist, he turned it, the light from the hall behind him pouring into the room. He shrugged, glancing back at Yugi. "Nothing is in there but a bench now."

Leaving the door open behind him, Yami stepped inside to glance about, the stone bench standing in the middle of the room. Hieroglyphs that were too dark to read stood upon the walls. As Yugi's footsteps sounded behind him, Yami held out a hand, and snapped his fingers. Torch light sprung into being, illuminating the room. Yugi passed by him to sit upon the bench, hanging his arms over the back. "It's certainly a lot less creepy here now."

Yami glanced about, his eyes scanning the hieroglyphs. "I assume this was the original design pattern?"

Yugi looked at him in surprise. "You don't recognize this room?"

Yami bit his thumb in thought. "Maybe…"

Yugi sat up, watching him intently as Yami slowly turned upon his heel, and stared at the doorframe, studying it carefully before exiting over the threshold. Keeping one hand fastened on the handle, he swung his head around, taking in the sloping staircases and close-packed doorways. It reminded Yami of a photo Yugi had shown him, a clipping from an old newspaper his grandfather had saved, detailing the abandonment of Hashima Island in 1974. Apartments that had been packed together likely tumbled down now, the entire city collapsing in on itself in slow motion without good upkeep of its infrastructure. This close packing of doors and pathways, while much older in years, didn't rot or corrode, rather they were frozen in time. Layers of dust didn't even collect on them. Yami had occasionally entertained the notion of one of the doors opening, and a friendly face peering down at him. There might have been a few influences from the modern world in his domain. Once, when Yugi had gone to the park with his friends, they had passed by a small gazebo looking out over the playground. About a week later, a gazebo-like structure had appeared in the labyrinth, jutting slightly out of the upper part of a side wall like an odd tumor.

Heading back inside, he reported, "I don't remember this room's location."

Yugi looked disturbed by that. "That can't be good."

Yami waved his hand. "Remember what you told me in Battle City, how you theorized that this labyrinth shifts, as my mental state so often does? Add to it the fact that I have been a resident of this maze for three millennia, and you'll understand that I would need to have an infinite memory in order to recall it, something that I lack."

Yugi looked embarrassed at his own ignorance, and stood at that. "Sorry. I didn't consider that."

Yami shook his head. "You pointed out a blind spot I failed to realize. I should have more carefully marked out certain locations," jamming his hands in his pockets, he stared about, "If my theory is correct, then it's possible that I can keep some rooms from changing. if I hadn't disregarded this room, Anubis wouldn't have inhabited it."

Yugi frowned at the futility of it all, flopping back down on the bench. "But then he would have taken up residence elsewhere. Everywhere has a blind spot. I do, too. I can't expect to remember everything that occurs. Although," he joked, "I think it would've been easier for you if you remodeled this place into just one big room."

Yami chuckled. "Oh, I wish."

Bending his knee, Yami propped his foot upon the back of the stone bench. "Do you want to hear a story, Yugi?"

"Sure," he replied, folding his arms behind his head.

Glancing at the hieroglyphs again, Yami began, "As you're already familiar with the existence of Ra through Duel Monsters, he'll need no introduction. He did have a daughter, however, a woman with the head of a lioness named Sekhmet. As you can infer, she was a goddess of war."

"That's her, isn't it?" Yugi asked, pointing up at the figure of a woman with a lioness's head upon the wall. She clutched an ankh in one hand.

"Yes. Although," Yami began again, casting his gaze to the figure of Hathor, who stood just behind Sekhmet, "her identity is a bit more complicated than that, but that's not as important to this story. Sekhmet, as you can see," he gestured to indicate the images of people falling to their knees, cowering in fear, or bleeding before the goddess, "was feared by mankind. It is only fitting, then, that when humanity began to reject Ra, thinking itself better than him, he called upon her to punish mankind for its pride. However," he pointed to the image of a sorrowful-looking Ra, "Ra came to regret his daughter's actions. These people were his children. Sekhmet, however," he traced his hand toward the image of a rabid lioness tearing into a piece of meat the size of a human man's leg, "didn't stop, having been consumed by bloodlust. So, Ra was the one to concoct an alcoholic drink that was so powerful, in fact, that it caused her to pass out for three days. When she awoke, her bloodlust was gone." Noting the image of Ptah standing before a sleeping lionness, Yami added as an aside, "That leads into the beginning of another story, but it looks like that has just been left as a footnote, considering how the last panel is cut off." True to his words, the stone wall stopped at the doorway.

Yugi quietly digested the parable, his eyes meeting Yami's. Yami swallowed a few times before looking away. "I think I know why I disregarded this room." Yugi grasped his arm. Yami tugged his arm backwards, but Muto didn't relent. His eyes widened at his friend's persistence, and he ordered, "Please let me have my arm back, Yugi."

Yugi let go, though his expression was frustrated. "You need to stop worrying yourself over this."

Yami held his hand up to indicate the room. "It is what it is. Given what sort of powers I do have, there is a fine line I must walk."

Yugi frowned at that, and Yami felt a little unnerved at seeing his disapproval. "You and I both know that you stepped off that line in the past," Yami lowered his head at that, but Yugi continued, "You learned from it, however." He lifted his head back up to see that Yugi appeared concerned.

Yami folded his arms. "Though I think I know why this room fell from my view."

"Why?"

Yami smiled, placing his hand on his shoulder to squeeze it. "Isn't that obvious? You."

Yugi smiled back for a moment, but it slipped off. "Not really sure if I make a good substitute. We're different entities." Yami let go of his shoulder, his hand falling to his side. Yugi shrugged, looking away. "I sound like a hypocrite, I know, considering how much I rely upon you."

Yami smiled. "It seems like we have a few bad habits to break."

Yugi sighed. "It's too bad, really, considering how little time we'll have together now."

"We have more time than you think. I'm not going anywhere yet," he replied, backing up from the bench, "Come on, let's go play a game."

Atemu released his grip on the ankhs, allowing them to fall and clatter noisily to the floor. With the restoration of the memory, he had, in fact, been able to relive that moment. Pharaohs were war chieftains, forcing lesser kingdoms under their heel to keep Egypt on top. Atemu figured, in the past, that he'd probably taken lives, or ordered deaths.

On the other hand, however, the reclamation of the memory of the first blood he had drawn, face-to-face, was rather jarring. Anubis hadn't been the sorcerer's real name, that much was obvious, having stolen the name of a god to achieve his own means. Anubis had once pointed at him, and declared his throne and godhood to be a sham. He would, by taking the name of the god of embalming, return Egypt to world of the living, the world of the seen, the world of man. The heresy of his statements was far enough, but then it hadn't mattered who he had to crush underfoot to accomplish his restructuring of the world.

XXXXXX

With the same blade Yugi had cast at the Eye of Wdjat to end Anubis's power, Atemu stabbed the mad sorcerer in the heart. He'd fully known his intention, but it still hadn't prevented the shock at feeling Anubis's warm blood flowing down over his wrists, and watching the light slowly, ever so slowly, dying from his eyes as he collapsed to the floor, the blade sticking out of his chest. Atemu stumbled once, his tunic covered in blood, and sweating from the effort.

The court stared silently back at him as he cleared his throat, standing to full height, and casting his gaze about. The man, whom he later found to be his uncle, stared coldly back at him. Atemu had felt that he had failed, in some manner. He wondered what Akhenaden saw in his mind, and what judgment he had made of his thoughts. Looking back, Atemu realized, when the Sennen Eye had gleamed at him, that Akhenaden had been expressing his frustration and disappointment. Mahado, on the other hand, his headdress knocked off, was the first to approach him, leading him over to Seto and Aishizu, the former of whom sported a gash on his across his right arm, and the latter of whom had bruising across her face.

Seto released a breath. "Well, what must we do first?"

Atemu glanced back over his shoulder at the body of Anubis. "See that each of you are properly attended to. After that, a burial. It's more than he would have afforded any of us, had he been successful."

Seto and Aishizu bowed, dispersing. With Mahado following along behind him, Atemu walked away, staring out at the moonlight past destroyed columns. Flames still lit up the city here and there, and smoke trailed. Atemu sighed at the destruction. "Mana will need our assistance. We'd best be off."

Mahado smiled at that. "It's only fire, my pharaoh. I think she can handle it."

Atemu turned his head away. "Nevertheless, it's my kingdom to protect. How soon can our horses be ready?"

"I'll order it forthwith, though I'd advise you to change first. You wouldn't want to scare your citizens," he advised, leaving Atemu to stare out at the city, the oranges of its flames flickering over him. Leaning his weight against one of the columns, he wondered if he was truly cut out for all of this.

Everything eventually returned to dust, that much was obvious, and for the most part, he'd been able to detach himself from it. Still, from time to time after he and Anzu had spoken to Isis, the realization crept up on him that his world was now nothing more than hallowed buildings, statues, jewelry, and rubble.

In 1922, Mr. Howard Carter uncovered the steps to the late King Tutankhamun's tomb, but it wasn't until 1923 that he at last came face to face with the unfortunate pharaoh. Atemu quietly pondered Tutankhamun's title, and gathered that, had he himself not been declared nameless, and therefore, unknown, he would have been considered the "boy king" instead. Ironic more so, since Tut himself had sported a cane in his young age.

It was strangely morbid to see a museum of the past, for example, in that to him it would be the same as visiting a morgue. Atemu's fingers twitched in irritation as he wondered whether someday his father's or his mother's bodies would eventually be pulled from their tombs, and put on display. Unfortunately, it wasn't as if he could pull aside the curator, and tell him that it was in bad taste to put his parents on display. On the other hand, he supposed that there was at least some small consolation in the fact that the mummification process actually did work, preserving the ancient kings and queens across time.

To the opposite extreme stood Pepi II Neferkare, the final ruler of the Old Kingdom, who had managed to survive into his hundredth year. In contradiction, the only artworks that had managed to stand the test of time portrayed him as a child. Atemu, in some ways, envied the long-lived king, in that his life had been within his beloved kingdom. Atemu wasn't sure if it counted, considering that he could not categorize himself as living, though his existence in the realm of man greatly overshot Neferkare's.

XXXXXX

Atemu rested his palms on the sill of the gazebo, and rose on the balls of his feet, leaning outward to stare over the labyrinth's expanse in thought. Still, he lacked total knowledge. His mother, for example, remained a blank to him. Reaching as far backward into his memories as he could, he found himself unable to snatch a tuft of her hair, the cloth of her skirt, or the notes of her voice. Though, what he could recall, however, were a few of the looks his father gave him, from time to time. Atemu knew he had to be protected as the sole heir to the throne, and his father regarded him as important, but occasionally the faraway glances he received, or the fact that his father tended to take over more of his life-related aspects, spoke a volume on something more personal.

It wasn't as if Atemu couldn't picture her in his head, as there were images of her. It had been easy to figure out where he'd gotten his hair from, though hers tended to spiral down and outward, as opposed to standing straight up. As to stories of her, most of which he was told were official, in that they were bereft of much detail except that she was strident, unbending, and elegant. He supposed the same could be said of a statue of Bastet. On the other hand, however, he suspected that part of the reason little was told to him was to spare his feelings. His fingers clenched on the sill. After all, her death had passed over her when the sheets between her thighs had grown as scarlet as her hair. Atemu quickly shoved the thought away.

Still, there had been a few clues that had fallen through the cracks. The images of her, for example, tended to display her holding a writing utensil. He supposed she had that in common with her husband, who favored the pen over the blade himself, though their son was not fortunate enough to be given a choice.

Another was from his father. Stroking his hand through his son's hair a few nights after the boy's seventh birthday, he commented, "Your mother would be so proud to see you growing as you are."

With a yawn, Atemu rubbed his eyes as they passed an open window, moonlight pouring into the dim hallway. "Where is she? I want her to be here."

Akhenamkhanen smiled, grasping his tired son around the waist to swing him up into his arms. "She is in the Duat, son, waiting for us."

Atemu stared out over the quiet city. "It seems so far away. Was it hard for her to travel like that, all alone?"

"No, Atemu," he comforted gently, "She had once travelled from far away before."

"Why?" He asked, staring out at the stars.

His father chuckled, and kissed the top of his head. Atemu grunted in annoyance, and tried to scrub off his kiss with the heel of his hand. "To be with me."

There was a third, when he had, taking a page from Mana's book, hidden in a vase. He'd been a bit more daring, as at the age of about ten, he was growing close to too big to hide within, while his interest in where he could hide only became greater. Notably, this time, he'd hidden more within the realm where members of the court treaded. He'd timed it correctly, knowing that Mahado would still be busy training Mana for a little less than an hour.

Curled in on himself, he realized a little too late that this wasn't the smartest idea, as the vase's heat continuing to rise in the confined area. Footsteps sounded, and he quieted his breath.

"The threat to the west is growing. I fear that placation through diplomacy will continue to falter," Akhenaden mused, his robe whispering.

"I fail to see why it should be considered placation," Siamun's tone implied defensiveness, "Our pharaoh has avoided needless bloodshed for much of his reign, until these latter years. It has given time for Egypt to grow and flourish. Need I remind you of the recovery that had been required from the time of your father, or, at that rate, his father before him?"

Akehnaden snorted. "You need not preach to me, Siamun. I know it only too well. We are both old men in a changing age. We must, however, acknowledge and adapt to it. The kingdom needs a continued restoration of its sword arm, as well."

"We have our army, or have you not noticed?" Atemu felt as if his elbows were burning from leaning on them too long.

"Certainly I have, but you know as well as I that the threat is not western only, otherwise the Sennen Items would not have been forged. The death of the queen has not done our relations well, either. The political marriage did mend our ties, but nevertheless I feel it may have done more harm than good in the long run."

Atemu's eyes widened at that.

Siamun's breath caught. "You criticize our late queen?"

"No, but I am merely a placing of the finger upon the pulse of the issue. The pharaoh has but one heir, and the kingdom has grown too complacent. The queen may have held sway over her land due to her noble status alone, but as for her people, I find them distrustful. Her reserved nature did little to sway my opinion in favor of her." Atemu bit down upon his bottom lip, failing to understand.

"It isn't uncommon for someone to be quieter in persona. A few members of the court are."

"Yes, but they are trustworthy. The marriage was a gamble, and while Khepri found her place here, I would not say the same for her relations, those from whom," papyrus whispered as it was unfurled, "we have not yet heard."

"What is it you are asking me for?" Siamun demanded, his tone implying that he was losing his patience.

"For an audience with the pharaoh. You have his ear more than I, Siamun, even as, or rather, because, his health has started to decline. I have a few provisions to offer to him in order to better fortify our kingdom."

A few moments passed in silence, and Siamun at last replied, "Very well, I will consider it." As their footsteps died away, Atemu felt a chill run down his spine despite the heat of the vase.

The lid on the subject of his mother shut after the third clue. What Atemu could gather was that, wherever from which she had hailed, it was somewhere around Egypt, most likely from the land of a nomarch. From the fondness that his father had for her, he doubted that the marriage was political only (at least after the initial ceremony). As to the nature of herself and her family, Atemu wasn't sure if perhaps she was some sort of black sheep, a bargaining chip, or at least someone who was to be shoved out of the way for being too weak in whatever magic her relatives could perform. Whatever the case, the picture wasn't nearly enough to be accurate, especially considering that most of the wording was from Akhenaden using her negative portrayal to further his own means. His father had been too wistful to draw much of an interpretation, either. With not much to go on, he was forced to realize that this was as close to answers as he would get in the land of the living, as depressing as it was.

XXXXXX

The shadows he'd played games against within the confines of the Sennen Puzzle weren't even close to being considered as companions, but they were all that he had. Still, it hadn't made the crippling loneliness any less, these humanoid shapes mechanically moving pieces, or flipping over playing cards. The games themselves had proved a challenge from time to time, his wins ending in the dispatch of the shadow for the session, and his losses ending in the shadow rising up to loom over him, and extending both long arms toward him. In annoyance, he'd raise his hand with a flat response of, "I don't think so," and remove the creature with a burst of light. Though there was the odd occasion when the shadow whispered, and the Spirit would growl, "What are you saying? Speak up." The shadow would jerk itself back down to the game, and move a piece forward. Rather than making the next move, the Spirit would fold his arms, and ask, "Well?" No response. The shadow would wait, sitting stalk still as if it was a cut-out of a person. The Spirit's reactions were mixed, though each of them were reminiscent of each other. He'd hurl a piece at the shadow, or go as far as to flip the board. On the worst occasions, he'd rise and stalk over to the shadow. The shadow would shrink away from him, curling in on itself, its legs and arms sinking back into its frame. The Spirit, however, would grasp whatever remained of the essence between his hands. Tightening his grip, he wrung it out in anger and frustration, screaming at it, "Who or what am I?! Tell me, damn it!"

Despite his heart-to-heart with Yugi, his doubts had still stirred. Summoning the knife with which he had played his first Shadow Game after his release from the Puzzle, Yami no Yugi gripped it in his hand. The senet board stood before him as he moodily twisted the point between his fingers. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped one hand, and fastened his other tightly around the hilt of the blade. He drew his arm back, and flung it forward, releasing the blade. The knife flew through the air, and thumped as it stuck in the wood surface. Grasping it, Yami braced his other hand upon the board, his teeth gritted, and his one foot holding the table leg in place. The table shook as he yanked it out with a deep-throated grunt. He stared at the crack he had made in the board for a few moments, tilting the knife so that it lay across his palm. Raising his eyes, he glanced at each empty chair set before the board.

While he appreciated Yugi's reassurance, there were several causes for doubt. Most obviously, the fact that he was imprisoned to start with. While the meeting with Isis had given him some amount of context, there were still some aspects that he didn't find savory, upon further consideration. Her own family, for example, had spent centuries stuck in one location because of him. As for what the shadows said to him, he couldn't take that at face value. Yami still wasn't entirely sure how this labyrinth functioned, even after all of this time, the structure of it being tied closely into his mental state. It was possible that the shadows were merely manifesting his own nightmares as to what he could possibly be, which made sense, as they never bothered Yugi on the occasions that he was there. However, that explanation was too simple, especially considering what power he had commanded in what he could refer to, with some form of nostalgia, as his early days. That being said, he'd clearly been versed in shadow magic, which didn't necessarily bode well. While he did employ it for the usage of bringing justice, there was the fact that he employed it at all, and was good at it. Pandora smirked at him, his arms folded, and the orange Black Magician card sticking out between his two fingers. Well, maybe not so good at it anymore, considering Yugi's influence. Again, there was that fine line. For as cliché as it was, history, even that of the recent era, proved that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Pegasus had wanted to see his wife again, for one. For two, Rishid had stayed by Malik's side, knowing all too well that his other persona was far worse. Yami tossed the blade in the air. It cartwheeled twice, and he caught it by the hilt just before it could be driven into his right hip. As for himself, he didn't feel pity for those he had punished, even now. He'd given each of them a fair chance to redeem themselves, and each had failed, usually due to pride or greed.

He rested the blade against his side. As for his counterparts, those being Bakura and Marik, Yami found, much to his displeasure, that in this aspect he was more like them than he cared to let on. His fist clenched about the hilt of the knife again, and he drove it down so far into the board that it split. He breathed hard at the futility of it all, relinquishing his grip upon it. He didn't want to be like them. But where did it begin, and where did it end, himself and the darkness? He closed his eyes. What sort of king had he been, in his human life? If his personality, especially at his inception in the realm of man, was to be used as a template, then it was obvious to him that he favored the ends, as opposed to the means. But then, he'd seen the faces of so many in the outside world, faces of Yugi's friends and family. Miniscule in number compared to even the populace of Domino City, they'd all come to matter to him in some way or another, each standing apart as individuals. He hadn't wanted to lose a single one of them. As for being a ruler, it would be easy to reduce everything to a numbers game. While Yami had had the role of arbiter sequestered, he didn't want to think about the weights that were thrown on the scales when a kingdom was to be considered.

Seto Kaiba was harsher in mannerisms than Yugi, but that was understandable, considering the cold corporate environment with which he was accustomed. That was even without considering the detestable Big Five, or the abusive Gozaburo. He faced a cold numbers game on what was a typical basis, so it was little wonder that he was outright cynical. Especially after seeing the remains upon which Duel Tower stood, Yami had to admit that he had more in common with the CEO than he had wished to consider otherwise. Perhaps a form of tyranny was justified in his mind at some point, three millennia ago. Yami slumped down on his chair, his head in one hand, his elbow braced upon the destroyed board. If so, then wouldn't he put himself on trial in one of his Shadow Games, considering how his own perception of law tended to slant toward black and white? Whatever the case, he needed to know the truth, and, unfortunately, reassurances weren't going to be enough now, as far into it as he was, and especially after seeing how personally his existence (or lack thereof) had affected the Ishtars.

XXXXXX

His own identity was a left a question, and Rafael had picked at it during their duel. Tactically speaking, Atemu realized that his reason for playing the Seal of Orichalcos had been quite foolish. It wouldn't have been the first time he had lost a duel without stakes, considering that Jonouchi carried the Red Eyes Black Dragon in his deck once more. Theoretically, he wasn't sure of whether he could have dispatched Rafael with a Mind Crush, considering that the motorcyclist wore an Orichalcos stone about his neck. For that matter, the stone he'd worn around his own neck had taken a toll upon his own judgment. He'd clutched it in his hand, and winced at it, the ancient magic drilling into his mind. He'd felt pain from the shadows before, but the Orichalcos's age, as well as sheer power from the souls it had been fed, had been multiplied in strength to become a mental jackhammer.

It hadn't been just one ancient voice in his head, but multiple, similarly to those within the confines of the Puzzle. However, the words weren't in the Egyptian dialect, rather they were of multiple unknowns, without a consistency in guttural tone. Walking the streets of Domino City in Yugi's body, it had been difficult for him in crowds at first, to hear so many voices speaking on so many different topics, in so many different tones, with so many different inflections, and in so many different volumes. He'd had to drift out of Yugi's body more than once before the strain became too great. This, however, was far worse, in that he couldn't recognize the words at all. He could at least feed off Yugi's knowledge of Japanese, but this language was a complete blank. It was possible that the language was Atlantean, but it didn't sound even close to human at first.

"Are you all right? Here, let me—"

Mentally, Yami caught Yugi's hand at the wrist, holding it back. "No, please don't. You don't want this in your mind," his vision blurred for a split second, Rafael's image swimming before him, "At least one of us will need to concentrate."

The stone gleamed again, and he clutched at it. "Take the necklace off," Yugi prompted worriedly, "If it's bothering you that much, then throw it on the ground."

"I can't do that," Yami returned, "If I do, then it will only prove Rafael's point. If the Orichalcos does, in fact, measure out the darkness within an individual, then what would that say about me?"

Yugi, frustrated, crossed his arms and held his ground. "We all have darkness in us. The only thing it will prove is that you're human."

Yami winced again, putting a hand to his head. "Personally, I'd consider myself more of a modified human."

Yugi sighed. "Then let me take over; give yourself a break. I should be able to control—" Yugi cut himself off by placing a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide at the implication of his own words.

Yami smiled sadly, knowing he hadn't meant it. "There are no stakes in this duel. If we lose, nothing will become of us. Rafael hasn't played the Seal of Orichalcos."

Yugi rubbed the back of his neck. "Unless you count being left to starve or die of dehydration."

Placing his one hand over the Sennen Puzzle, Yami replied, "Leave that to me. In the meantime, I need to see this duel through the end."

Yugi waved his hand in a chopping motion. "Rafael hardly even knows you!"

"I hardly even know myself," Yami replied pointedly, indicating himself by jabbing a thumb into his own chest, "When Anubis trapped you within the Sennen Puzzle, you suffered through a mere fragment of what I had endured for 3000 years, and even at that, you had the advantage of context. Forgoing whether or not I was a tyrant in my human life, I spent the vast majority of my existence in a state that could not even be considered living. And, speaking quite frankly, this situation is my fault. Had I not been so gung-ho in returning to the past, my offering of the god cards would not have been made, ergo Dartz would not have as much power as he did. I'm merely taking responsibility for it."

He gasped as Yugi, glaring at him, seized the front lapels of his jacket, shaking him once. "I know you as you are! We all do! I wouldn't have offered my own memories to you otherwise! Is that not enough for you?!"

The guttural voices breathed into his ear again, and Yami winced. "If I get my own memories back, and I'm horrified by what I see, then what? If my soul goes to rest, it will be judged based upon not only this life, you know that." He decided to not add on that his existence, just after leaving the Puzzle, hadn't been quite clean.

Yugi's grip slipped slightly as he continued, "I can't leave the past behind, not after we've spent all of this time pursuing it. While I'd much rather stay in the present, you and I both know that this too will pass. As for the future, that goes without saying in my situation." Yugi dropped his hands at his sides, balling them into fists. "I want to know the truth, so I can at least stand and take it, not be blindsided by it. If we lose, then you can blame it on me if you want."

Yugi laughed, and shook his head. "We'll win. We always do."

The voices, however, slowly became clearer. While in the Puzzle, the shadows had whispered, these were more confronting, similarly to the arbiter that he himself had once been. His crimes were called into question, as were his flaws, his interminable pride, and his fear of failure, not to mention how flimsily he was regarding the second. What right had he to speak of morals, when he himself was willing to lose a duel on a whim? When Yami mentally argued back that he was only human, as Yugi had said, he was sharply reprimanded with the fact that pharaohs were referred to as gods.

When Rafael handed him the Seal of Orichalcos, however, the voices stopped. Yami, despite holding such a destructive card, mentally took a breath, hoping them to be gone for good. However, just as he started back to his position, a jarring clang rung out. Yami shut his eyes. As Rafael made no indication of hearing it, he realized that the sound came from within his head. A snake harshly hissed, and, his teeth gritted, he understood too late what the sounds meant. Staring down at the card in his hand, and hearing Yugi's pleas against using it, Yami found it was hard for him to listen, when he could hear Apophis savagely ripping his heart to shreds, and hungrily sucking upon its juices.

Even if he did lead a good life as of current, it was only for two years, and he wasn't sure if it was enough to make up for festering within his own darkness for 3000 years, to say nothing of the past. He had to have a clear answer. But then, why did he regret playing the card anyway?

As it turned out, Yugi did blame him for that loss in their Illusionary Duel. Despite his friend telling him that he would never be alone, Yami had felt quite so during that final duel with Dartz. The former Atlantean king, his voice smooth, and his words soothing like a siren's call, began to lure him to walk to his death. In that torch lit room, they may as well have been the last two souls on Earth. At the very least, if he could be with everyone once more, before the Leviathan could recreate the Earth in its image. But then, at the last moment, after he had knocked, one last time, upon a stone wall, desperately hoping someone would answer, someone else knocked back.

Slamming the door shut tight upon the room holding Sekhmet's tale, Atemu locked it. Turning on his heel, he walked away.

XXXXXX

It shouldn't have been surprising that not everyone could be saved, considering that Dartz had been capturing souls for ten millennia. Still, it had made it no less startling when an example of a loose end had appeared.

Due to inhabiting more of a spectral plain, Yami could detect the presence of ghosts, or occasionally notice a manifestation of one. Yugi wasn't too surprised by this, considering the otherworldly matters with which they were involved. If anything, it heightened the necessity of his goal to help his friend go to rest.

The train station was packed that morning, with Yugi and Jonouchi headed for the Tokyo Game Show. Jonouchi held open a magazine detailing the newer entries into the arcade genre. "Aha, found him!" Jonouchi exclaimed, indicating the picture of Otogi holding up a handful of dice, and grinning at the camera. "Shizuka mentioned to me that she wanted to get into this game. Better not let him know," he muttered offhandedly, "I'll just pick up a copy and say I'm a supportive customer. It's the least I could do for him, anyway."

Yugi chuckled before reaching over and pointing at the left page, "Oh, turn to the section on Capcom! The _Biohazard_ series tends to sell well at our shop, and the new entry is being hyped up!"

"I will as soon as you move your finger out of the way!" Jonouchi replied, playfully shoving Yugi with his shoulder.

Yami smiled from where he floated alongside Yugi. Perhaps it hadn't been the most intelligent idea for him to rush into presenting the god cards to the tablet. Part of it was that it would be hard to leave behind this world. He knew that the longer he remained, the more attached he would become, and the harder it would be to leave. On the other hand, however, it had led ultimately to destruction, where moments like this would have been lost. That aside, he was looking forward to the convention. There would be something else that he would miss upon leaving this modern world, that seeing people within it grow and change. He placed his hand against Yugi's back as the two students spoke animatedly about a man named Leon Kennedy's adventures in Spain. He wouldn't get to see him graduate from high school, marry, father children, or live to an old age, and that hurt to know.

He averted his eyes from Yugi in order to no longer think on the subject, rather he fixed his attention on the many passerby. His vision scanned listlessly over them, knowing that he couldn't be seen. He stopped, however, his eyes widening, when he saw someone staring directly back at him. The jolt from his surprise caught Yugi, who looked up suddenly. Jonouchi, noticing his reaction, started up as well, shutting the magazine and standing straight up. "Something wrong, Yugi?" He inquired.

Yugi glanced over at Yami, who replied shortly, "Wait here for a moment."

Yugi nodded, turning back to Jonouchi. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think we should be ready to move soon, just in case."

"Got it. Stick close to me, then."

Yami moved forward at a walking pace through the crowd toward the man who continued to stand and stare at him. The figure was transparent as he was. He wore a pair of spectacles and a three-piece suit. In one hand he grasped a suitcase. If anything, he appeared to be a common salaryman.

"I was wondering when you were going to notice me," the salaryman greeted, his hands folded over the handle of his briefcase.

Yami paused several meters from him, cautious as to who this speaker was. "I'm not sure how to take that," he responded carefully.

"Oh, forgive me my manners," the salaryman replied in a sheepish tone of voice with a shrug and a friendly smile, "I fear you wouldn't recognize me, would you?" Yami slowly shook his head. The salaryman took one hand from his briefcase to place over his chest, "My name is Joji Kurosawa. I was one of the souls that you had saved from the Leviathan."

Yam's eyes widened, and he stepped forward, phasing through a small group of girls that passed by. "I hadn't imagined that I would see one of you. I'm glad to hear that you are all right, however."

Kurosawa bowed. "That is all thanks to you, young man. Do you happen to have time to speak?"

Yami glanced back over his shoulder at Yugi. Jonouchi had reopened the magazine, and the two were looking through it again. Yugi looked up for a moment at Yami. Yami waved to indicate that nothing was amiss, and Yugi nodded, looking back down as the page was turned. "I cannot stay long. My host has a train to catch soon."

"A host?" Kurosawa repeated, "Fascinating," turning slightly, he asked, "Will this bench suffice?" Yami nodded, and gestured for him to have a seat first. Joji did so, placing his briefcase between them. "I hope that no one else sits here, otherwise this conversation will be quite odd," he added with a slight chuckle. "All the more reason we hurry along, then."

Yami looked over at the station clock at that, and Joji explained, "I was caught on my way to a meeting. It was this station to which I was embarking. As you can tell, I never made it to the train," he wrung out his hands, "It was strange, really. It didn't hurt when I actually did die, rather I drifted out of my body."

Yami switched his gaze back over to him. "Oh, I'm sorry," Kurosawa quickly added, waving his hand, "I didn't mean to make you upset." Yami initially felt surprised at his reaction, only to realize that his body language might have given away more than he had first thought. Case in point, his fists clenched in his lap. Yami released them.

"Not to worry, you didn't," he reassured, "I should be the one who is sorry. This must not be easy for you to recount."

Kurosawa sighed, and looked at the station clock. "My train was to arrive at ten in the morning. I was taken away ten minutes 'til. I can only assume that my body was found later."

Yami folded his hands together, and placed his chin on them, his elbows braced upon his knees. "Tell me, the one who took your soul, what did he look like?"

"He?" Joji repeated, surprised, "Oh, beg your pardon, sir, but he was a she. A young woman with short black hair, cut in one of those bob hairstyles. She had those thick, red earrings that dangled, as were the fashion during the early '80's. She appeared to be an American."

Yami's eyebrows raised. He wasn't sure how to digest this information. It was obvious that Rafael, Varon, Mai, and Amelda hadn't been the only people who had worked for Dartz in the past, otherwise he would not have continued gathering souls for as long as he had, but the fact that another horsewoman was now known to him bothered him. Who she was, and what her origins were, were an unknown to him. Dartz's judgment had been heavily clouded by the influence of the Orichalcos, but still, Yami couldn't help but wonder what he had done to corrupt this fifth unknown figure, or, for that matter, others. More harrowing still was the fact that this agent had been active not too long ago. He wasn't too sure exactly on what the burnout rate of Dartz's horsemen was, but if the time between the era of operation between the unnamed woman and Rafael had been a decade or two, roughly, apart, then he couldn't imagine how many people Dartz must have gone through. Again, the numbers game. Hence, Yami knew he had no leg to stand on in terms of passing judgment over the late Atlantean king.

"Nevertheless," Kurosawa continued sadly, fastening the fingers of his right hand about his left ring finger, the gold wedding band gleaming, "That time has come and gone. My body has been lying in the ground for far too long." He sighed heavily, dropping his hand. Yami decided against prying further. Joji glanced down at his briefcase. "Inside of this were important papers that were needed for my meeting. As you can infer, I never made it," raising his hand, he pushed up the bridge of his glasses with his index finger, "The company itself no longer exists. It filed for bankruptcy in 1989."

"My condolences," Yami offered.

Joji waved his hand. "Young man, you need not offer them. You saved me and countless others from oblivion. While this existence is lonely, it is preferable to that." The clock's minute hand rose to the number ten, and Joji glanced at it. "The young man who was with you, his name was Seto Kaiba, yes?"

Yugi stared backward over his shoulder from where he now stood alone, his one hand upon the safety rail, his other hand in his pocket. Jonouchi returned, holding two senbei wrapped in wax paper, the one closer to his mouth sporting a bite mark. Withdrawing his hand, Yugi reimbursed him for the uneaten one, and took it. Yami signaled to Yugi to wait for a moment longer before returning his attention to Joji. "Yes, he was."

Joji nodded. "I am glad to see that he is taking the company in a different direction from his late stepfather. I would not have trusted that man with anything," he picked up his briefcase, drawing it to himself, "Though, that is all I will say on the matter in terms of polite conversation." Grinding was heard on the train tracks, and a feminine voice over the train station's PA system announced the arrival of the next train. Joji rose, and Yami rose with him. The salaryman bowed to him. "At least now I can at last catch my train. Thank you for speaking with me."

Offering his hand, Yami replied, "The pleasure was mine." Kurosawa took it, and shook it warmly. Keeping a grip on Yami's hand, he held up a finger, his smile slipping off. "One more thing, young man. Be careful with whom you talk. I am grateful your help, but not all of the released souls will be so happy to see you." Yami tilted his head at that, and Joji explained, dropping his hand, "Some souls are not thrilled with the fact that you have a chance to go to rest, while they do not." The pharaoh accepted Kurosawa's warning with a stern nod, and the salaryman departed. Yami stared quietly after Joji as he phased slowly into the crowd, the tip of his briefcase disappearing past a woman's arm.

Yugi folded his arms upon his desk, and lowered his chin onto them, staring contemplatively at the Sennen Puzzle as it sat before him. "Had I solved it sooner, more people could have been saved."

Yami, from where he sat on the bed, stared contemplatively up at the skylight. "You don't know that for certain."

Yugi twisted about slightly to catch his eye. "It took me eight years to solve this puzzle. I can't imagine how many souls were taken for Leviathan in that stretch of time," he thumped the side of his hand upon the desk's surface for emphasis, "We missed Pegasus by a matter of days."

"And if you solved it eight years prior, what would that have accomplished, you fashioning yourself into some sort of child soldier?" Yami returned sharply, his arms folded tightly, "Given the choice, I wouldn't have allowed it."

Yugi's fist clenched on the desk in frustration, drawing Yami's eye to it. The pharaoh shook his head. "Don't wallow in your regrets, Yugi. You'll waste your life away."

XXXXXX

It wouldn't be much longer now, Atemu thought to himself. He smirked at his past words to Yugi. Remaining within the Sennen Puzzle was a wasted life. While it was an immense relief to have his memories again, and to realize that he was not what he had feared to be, he felt as if he had to ease himself back into his earlier role. In some ways, he wished he had more time to think, but he had stayed too long already. Not that Yugi minded him being there, but again, Atemu feared that he eventually wouldn't want to go if he continued to stay.

The oddest connection that he felt, however, was the fact that he had been more used to being touched. Spending so much time without human contact had made him less comfortable with it in modern times, making the interactions he'd had with Yugi and Anzu jarring, but nonetheless important. He found Anzu's feelings for him to be endearing, but, ultimately, what he could not reciprocate, as it would only lead to tragedy. Still, from time to time, maybe when she hung by Yugi's desk after class, or the two would talk and laugh together on the way home, he could see reflections of what might have been. Yugi rarely took off that silver bracelet after he'd suggested he wear to get her attention.

Though, knowing what he did now, it did make his interactions with his favorite monsters make more sense. Black Magician Girl winked at him. In more ways than one, it seemed. He missed Mana, he missed Mahado, he missed his father, and he missed his court to the point where it felt like a physical ache. As initially hesitant as he was, he did wish, more than anything, to return to them.

The open passages of the labyrinth beckoned to him once more in the vastness. Atemu, however, refused to follow. The shadows whispered to him one last time, and with a sigh, he held up one hand. "Enough." One last duel, one last chance for the door out of this world to close. He felt torn upon the outcome, but knew he could trust in Yugi, as he could in himself. He supposed, in some ways, he would miss this place, for it was as ingrained into him as he was into it, but it was all right.

He was going home.

* * *

Anubis's backstory was drawn mostly from my own perceptions, as all that is known is of him is that he betrayed Akhenaden by taking the Pyramid of Light. Considering the fact that he has claimed the name (and guise) of a god, I assumed his reason was heresy.

The dialogue I added between Yami and Yugi during the duel with Rafael was my interpretation of why Yami played the Seal of Orichalcos. While it would have made more sense, plot-wise, if he just threw the duel, I think there was more at work there. I've seen it pointed out multiple times that the Orichalcos stone was clearly negatively affecting Yami, which is depicted physically by him wincing and clutching it.


End file.
